Batman: Sanity In a Madhouse
by Choco Scorpion Bat
Summary: It has been over a year since Arkham City was shut down. The inmates were moved back to the asylums. All seems to go well. Then a terrorist takes over, and everything goes to hell. Again.


A/N: This is my second Batman story, set a year and a half after the events of Arkham City.

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Chapter 1

Descent: Part 1

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It has been a year and a half since Arkham City. A year and a half since Joker's demise. Gotham's higher ups had the super prison shut down and the inmates returned to Arkham Asylum. They tightened security tenfold after the disaster before. But nothing could hold down the likes of Killer Croc or even Two-Face. They always found a way out eventually. Batman would drag them back. It was a routine.

Still, things were going smoothly... For now.

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3 weeks later...

Thunder rumbled overhead as Commissioner Gordon parked his police cruiser outside the gates of Arkham. A sizable crowd had gathered, blocking the entrance. Gordon pushed people apart, forcing his way through.

"By God!" he whispered, staring at the corpse. The body had been hanged by a nylon cable to the wrought iron gates of the Asylum. The face was caked with white makeup and black mascara that ran in streams on the cheeks. The victim's mouth had been sliced in a Glasgow grin, the lips painted red with his blood. A flash of lightning threw the murder weapon into relief; a Joker card buried deep inside the man's chest. All over his body, the word "ha ha" was sloppily written in green ink.

Gordon struggled to speak, horrified and shocked. It couldn't be him! He was dead! He saw Batman carry his body out of Arkham City! Gordon drew in a shuddering breath, kneading his temple. Then who? A Joker wannabe? A sick fanatic?

"It wasn't Joker, Jim."

Gordon nearly jumped out of his skin, and turned to face The Dark Knight, who seemed to materialize out of thin air. He regained his composure and stared Batman in the eyes.

"Evidence speaks for itself, Batman. But you're welcome to look around."

Without a word, Batman strode to the body, his long cape swirling in the icy rain. Quickly, expertly, the Batman pressed a hidden button on the side of his cowl, activating his detective vision setting. Singling out the deadly playing card wasn't hard; the thin piece of flexible plastic stood out like a yellow beacon.

Batman carefully walked over to the body, leaning in closer. He scanned the card, searching for a particular set of prints. He did not find the Joker's (nor did he expect to), but he did find the set he was looking for, though it was not in the form of a print. It was saliva. However, the second set he found stunned him.

"Batman, did you find anything?" Gordon asked.

"Harley Quinn did this, Gordon."

Thunder shattered the sky like a gong as Gordon's men looked at each other solemnly. Gordon ordered his force to remove the body, investigation pending. He turned to speak to Batman, but he was gone, the card with him.

Batman had a good idea why Harley murdered the man and defiled his body, but what he couldn't work out was this:

Why were his prints on a Joker card?

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Back in the Batcave, Bruce tirelessly analyzed the DNA, searching for clues. What those clues were, though, he had no idea. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He brought up the file with his DNA, perplexed. He had thoroughly analyzed and cross-referenced the prints with every citizen within 100 miles of Gotham and Blüdhaven three times. All three times it matched up to one man: Bruce Wayne. It puzzled him, no... It confounded him. The more Bruce thought about it, the angrier he became. How did Quinn get his prints?

"Sir, a phone call for you," said Alfred, his tall, lanky butler. Alfred had begun to age noticeably. His hair was showing white streaks, and his gait had become slower. Bruce sighed and took the portable phone.

"Thank you, Alfred," he said, turning the phone to speaker mode. "Bruce Wayne speaking," he said into the speaker. He wondered who could possibly want to talk to him at 2:45 A.M.

"Hello, BATBRAIN!"

Bruce's eyes narrowed to points as he spoke.

"Quinn" he growled. "How did you know?"

Bruce glanced at Alfred, who stood bean pole straight, maintaining his composure. Quinn responded by giggling madly.

"Easy! Actually, it took me a while, but it finally clicked! You have all these weird gadget things, which are obviously custom made. You don't just buy that stuff, you know! Then there's your car and that annoying plane. Those are totally woryh millions. And that suit! That's military! So, after I thought it over some, I decided to see if I was right. So I hired a guy. I'm not tellin'you who, only that he's good. Like, Batman good."

Quinn paused, allowing this to sink in.

"Zephyr... You used Zephyr!" Bruce growled. Anger boiled inside of him. Zephyr was a delinquent... or used to be. He was also a technical genius. Bruce had found him hacking a security panel at the mall a few years ago, and, intrigued, had taken him in. Zephyr gradually warmed up to Bruce, andd finally revealed his past.

His father had been in the mob; working for a freak called Two-Face. Zephyr had never actually seen Two-Face until his father crapped up and accidentally spilled some big secret. Two-Face personally saw to his father's execution... Along with Zephyr's mother and younger sister. He was still alive only because he had hidden. He would never forget Two-Face.

Zephyr turned to crime in order to support himself. He had been in and out of jail more times than he could remember. Bruce thought he could reform him. Apparently he was wrong.

"Bingo!" Quinn said mockingly. "Wanna speak to Zephy? I heard he misses you!"

"What did you do to him!" Bruce seethef. "If you lay a finger on him I'll see to it that you need a translator to be understand!" Bruce roared.

Quinn only cackled.

"Steel mill, Arkham City, 5 A.M. sharp. Don't be late, or Zephy gets it!"

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A/N: There it is, Chapter 1! Leave feedback and please tell me what you liked and hated!


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